


An Arundel Tomb

by Paper_Crane_Song



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Episode Related, Episode Remix, Episode: s01e19 The Secret Sceptre Affair, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-03-01
Packaged: 2018-09-27 06:53:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9981737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paper_Crane_Song/pseuds/Paper_Crane_Song
Summary: Based onThe Secret Sceptre Affair. What if they didn't use the bear pit to make Napoleon talk? What if they used  Illya instead? An episode remix from Zia's point of view.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I loved how Napoleon risked the mission to go back for Illya, but at the same time I thought he was revealing a pretty big weakness. So when I watched that scene out in the desert when they're being questioned by Captain Ahmed about the whereabouts of the sceptre, I was totally expecting the Captain to exploit that weakness. And this is where the story came from. Feedback would be much appreciated :)
> 
> The title is from a poem of the same name by the English poet Philip Larkin.

_“He was just tired of fighting for other people's causes. He wanted something for himself.”_

_-_ Napoleon, of Colonel Morgan

_“You have something that belongs to me.”_

_-_ Napoleon, referring to Illya

 

* * *

  **Zia**

“Now we know what love looks like,” my friend sighs as she puts her arm through mine, huddling close as we leave the warmth of the cinema and the jostling bodies and walk out into the darkened street.

“I already know what love looks like,” I say quietly, but Fahima, swept away by the film, does not hear my words. As we begin the long walk back to the barracks and Fahima talks of Yuri and Lara and the balalaika until her voice becomes a background hum, I remember what happened, what I saw that day. How Captain Ahmed said,

 _“You have five seconds to tell me where the sceptre is."_  

I remained silent, Napoleon's hand in mine, the strength of his grip, warm and dry and comforting.

“I don't really know what you're talking about,” Napoleon said. “And five seconds are up.”

So Captain Ahmed shot Mr. Kuryakin.

I heard his grunt behind me and at the same moment Napoleon let go of my hand and reached for him but Captain Ahmed pointed his gun at me. “Do not move or the same will happen to her!”

Napoleon froze. Captain Ahmed was smiling now.

“Have you ever seen a man die from a stomach wound, Mr. Solo? It is bad.”

I risked a glance at Kuryakin. He was slumped against the wheel of the car, clutching at his belly and gasping. Already his blood was staining his hands and the ground around him.

“Yes, it is very bad,” Captain Ahmed continued, enjoying Napoleon's reaction. “There is no dignity.”

I could not help it. I spat at him.

Before he could do anything Napoleon stepped in front of me, my shield from Captain Ahmed's fury. “All right, I'll give you the sceptre. But I want your word you'll let us go free. All of us.”

One of the men guarded me whilst Napoleon retrieved it. He stood too close. I could sense his attraction and his hatred for me, and I wished I was wearing my uniform instead of the dress.

So I ignored the man and instead I looked at Kuryakin. He was on his side now, distorted, tearing up the earth as he kicked and clawed. He didn't seem to be aware of the sounds he was making. I knew that if Captain Ahmed did let us go then we would have to act fast to save his life.

And then came the sceptre's secret, the pain and the betrayal. This was why Fahima urged me to come out with her this evening. She thought I had been sad for too long, that I should have shaken off my sadness by now as if it were a cold I had caught. Fahima is a dear friend but she is young. She has not seen what I have seen.

Captain Ahmed gathered up the diamonds and they drove away, keeping their guns on us until the last moment. Then Napoleon was at his side. The revolution made me used to such things, but Napoleon - his friend's suffering shocked him, so I gave him orders as if he were part of my unit.

“Pick him up and lie him on the back seat,” I said, removing my scarf. Kuryakin screamed as Napoleon gathered him up, and he screamed again when I lifted his shirt and held the scarf down firmly on the wound.

“Take off your jacket,” I said to Napoleon, ignoring Kuryakin's hands scrabbling at mine as he lay there, twisting and arching his back. “Keep still,” I told him.

“Hurts,” he shrieked the word out through clenched teeth, and it was only later that I realised he had spoken to me in my own language.

“Listen, if you keep fighting us you will bleed to death.”

I took the jacket and tucked it around him, covering him as best I could. “Here,” I said, taking Napoleon's hand and guiding it to the make-shift bandage underneath the clothes, “keep pressure on this even if he complains. And keep him warm.” Napoleon's hand was shaking in mine.

Then I climbed into the front of the car and started the engine. The desert ground was rough and the car's suspension was inferior to our army jeeps and I was driving even faster than usual, so when I turned round to check on them I saw poor Napoleon, white-faced and grim, doing his best to hold onto his friend, bracing his legs against the car door to stop them both from being thrown off the seat. 

I remember how the tyres started to burn as I wrenched the car this way and that, and how the smell of rubber became the smell of vomit as Kuryakin bucked suddenly. “Turn him on his side,” I shouted over the noise of the engine, “don't let him choke,” and that was about the time Kuryakin lost consciousness and I merged onto the smooth highway and then everything became quieter and still. I only turned round once then, and I felt like an intruder.

“I wish someone would look at me like that,” I hear Fahima sigh, unknowingly echoing my own thoughts. I draw her closer to me.

Yes, I am sad, it is a part of me now despite Fahima's wishes, but I have to remind myself, when the days are long and the nights are longer, that there are still good men in this world. Napoleon and Mr. Kuryakin are good men and perhaps they will remain so, as long as one has the other. Morality is a fragile thing and I no longer believe in it.

But in love, I still believe.

 

_Finis_


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